Ah. Ballroom events again. Boring. Tiring. Socially draining.

You sighed to yourself and undid your tie with your collar unbuttoned, holding a glass of wine and entered a random guest room, thinking it was empty.

You looked up and saw Nazaire Ionia. Prince of Aglaea. From the ally country. Your enemy since young.

Nazaire was sitting on the window sill, a leg propped up as he gazed out the window over the hustle going outside.

The prince turned and looked at you when you entered.

Ugh. You again.